Ghost Moon

It was a dark, dark, night in 1825 when the first incident happened. The storm crashed overhead, lightning lashing out at everything that stood in its way. Everything... Apart from one house.

And that was when it happened. The moon crept out, if only for a second, a bright, electric blue. In that instant, the winds gusted, stronger than ever before, forcing the window open and blowing out the candle.

Willow was out of bed in seconds, racing over to the window to slam it shut. It was cold enough already... She thought to herself. She grabbed a handful of curtains, ready to draw them shut, but before she did something compelled her to look up.

As she gazed upwards, the clouds -shifted, and once again the moon showed, shining all its ghostly blue-white light on her. It was beautiful, in a way, she thought, but scary too.

After yanking the curtains shut, she turned around, ready to clamber back into bed... Something, or rather someone, flickered into existence: another girl, small, and most likely around the age of six. She had a ghostly white face and long, floating, bone-white hair floating oddly around her head. Her eyes were white, and the only hint of makeup she wore was some blood-red lipstick. She wore a pitch black skirt with a white blouse and two knee-high black socks

As Willow stared, the girls’ mouths’ parted.

They both screamed.

“Overactive imagination”

“Witchcraft.”

“No. It can’t be. She’s too young.”

After yelling at the top of her lungs, Willow had done what any five-year-old girl would do: ran screaming to her parents’ lavish bedroom.

“A ghost!” She’d wailed. “I saw a ghost!”

“it was a dream,” her mother had replied soothingly. “Just a dream, darling. It was all just a dream.”

But that was the problem- it wasn’t. And deep down her parents knew it too. Because, the way Willow had described her, the girl looked exactly like the child murdered at the age of four who had been, growing up, identical to the worst witch ever to have existed – Katherine Brown.

The second time they had met merely two days later, Willow had been brushing her flowing red hair, ready for school.

Of course, school was mainly sewing, baking and Caligraphy, boring stuff, as Willow called it, but even so, she refused to miss even a single second of it.

As she had reached over to grab a ribbon to tie up her hair with, the girl had slowly materialised in the mirror, starting with the head, then the body, the hands and legs and then finally the feet.

Willow turned-opened her mouth and started to scream...

The hand from the mirror reached out, white and half transparent. The sleeve attached to the hand was white and frilly at the end, black for the rest. “Don’t say a word. I’m warning you.”

It clamped on her mouth.

“I’m Clara. And I’m a ghost.” The girl was standing in front of Willow, fully emerged from the mirror. “I’ve not done anything wrong but a few years ago, when I was about three, I think, I was walking down this alley. My mother had told me to go and get some things, from my gran. She told me not to go that way, said it was dangerous, but the other way was so long, and I was tired. This person, they grabbed me as I was walking. Killed me. When the people found me, they were happy about it. Thought I was a witch.”

She paused, seeing the horrified look on Willow’s face. “Don’t worry, I’m not. Just looked a bit like one did... a very, very long time ago. You won’t know them. Called Katherine. But the only people who were sad were my parents.” She paused. “Oh, and the reason you can see me- it’s because of the moon. Someone under 13 looks at the ghost moon, they see ghosts forever. Not that you’ll see many. Only the people who were killed by others, I think, so I’m pretty lonely. Anyways, do you want to be friends?”

That question had been the start of a new friendship.

Three years later, Willow was talking animatedly to what was seemingly, to most people, simply an empty patch of air.

But to Willow, the empty space was a girl named Clara – the very same girl that had appeared 3 years ago, only aged eight now.

“Honestly, Willow,” Clara was saying. “Why do you even go? It’s not as if the classes have gotten any better, and it has been three years.”

It was true. The classes hadn’t gotten any better. Sure, they had changed; from Calligraphy, Sewing and baking to Advanced Calligraphy, Advanced sewing, Advanced cookery, Diplomacy, Etiquette and Basic maths.

But... School was school. And maybe if she worked hard enough, she would get better, different subjects. Hunting and sports and Advanced maths and Woodwork. They would be so much more interesting...

Yes. If she didn’t miss a second and worked hard enough, surely they would give her better classes. Harder classes. Boy classes.

“Clara, I’ll get in trouble if I don’t go.” Not the whole truth, but not a lie either. She wasn’t going to confess her dreams yet, not even to Clara.

“Ok,” Clara shrugged. “It’s your choice, I suppose. Go on then, I’ll be there soon.”

They walked off.

Or, at least, Willow did.

Clara stood, still as ever. “Bye, mama.” She said. “bye, papa.”

Only then did she follow.

“Clara! Don’t you dare!”

The first class that day was sewing and Clara, ever the trickster, was holding a needle behind a girl’s back.

The girl in question was Victoria- not very nice, and a very stab-able person if you were wanting to stab someone, but that wasn’t the point. If Clara stuck it into the girl, Willow would be in trouble. Big trouble.

Clara looked back, flashing a cheeky grin before poking the small of the girl’s back with the needle- hard.

“Ow!” the girl screeched. “excuse me, Miss Morris! Willow just stabbed me with her needle! Look, miss, I’m bleeding!”

It was, unfortunately, true. A small bead of blood was soaking through the girl’s shirt where Clara had plunged the needle.

Also, unfortunately, it was Willow who was sitting directly behind Victoria. It was the natural assumption for someone unable to see ghosts.

“Miss Evergreen. Of course. Come here, then.” The teacher paused to pick up her ruler and whacked it menacingly against the palm of her hand a few times. “Now.”

Slowly, as Willow stood up, Clara guiltily appeared beside the teacher. “Sorry!” she shouted to Willow before advancing on the teacher. “Don’t. You. DARE. Hurt. My. Friend!”

the teacher turned around as if spooked. ”Who’s there?” She whispered. When no one confessed, she simply said, louder, “It doesn’t matter. Not right now. We’ll deal with that later. Hurry up, girl!”

Willow reluctantly quickened her pace to the front of the room. Once she reached it, she placed her hand on the desk, closing her eyes and bracing herself for the impact of the ruler.

Ten seconds passed. Twenty. No impact. Willow cautiously opened her eyes.

The teacher was angrily struggling against an invisible force, clearly trying to slam her ruler down onto Willow’s outstretched fingers but somehow failing and instead bringing it closer to her own head.

Clara’s work, of course.

For a second, the teacher seemed to gain control, bringing the ruler swishing towards Willow, but about 30cm away, it stopped, the teacher’s hand rigidly still for a while before quickly bringing it up to her head and making contact.

A resounding CRACK echoed throughout the classroom and the teacher quivered for a second before unconsciously slipping to the floor as if dead.

Willow was dreading Miss Morris waking up. She knew what the accusations would be; witchcraft, dark magic.

And she knew the consequences.

Shock treatment.

She would be nine in two weeks. It was the first time she would be legible for it, to have a rubber tube shoved in her mouth and a metal headset placed over her temples. The first time she would be legible to have an electrical current convulse throughout her brain.

Still.... even if she was eligible, she was a child. Surely they could relent one last time... and if so, maybe it would be better if Clara stopped coming to school with her. At least for a while. She only ever seemed to get into trouble when Clara was here.

To be fair, that was most of the time.